


The Journey of the Common Lords

by burntmythroatskullingmytea (Tytoaster)



Series: The Mac Curitin Cycle [2]
Category: Original Work, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Companion Piece, Gen, Ireland, Quest, Side Quest, Spin Off, Viking Age, War, destiny is all, the Mac Curitins, the saga of the slave queen, vikingage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tytoaster/pseuds/burntmythroatskullingmytea
Summary: After Vikings raid their province, the Mac Curitins, a brave family of peasants, journey across the land of Eire, impersonating lords to gather an army to exact their vengeance on the men who slaughtered their people and killed their sister. Brennan can feel that this is his destiny but how long can they keep up this ruse? What are they willing to do to ensure their success?-This is a companion piece to The Saga of the Slave Queen-





	1. Honour

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read The Saga of the Slave Queen this isn't going to make much sense, so go read that.  
> Also, if you have read /are currently reading TSOTSQ you won't have to read this story for rest of TSOTSQ to make sense, this is just a fun side project and little challenge for me.  
> this story starts the next day from when we last saw the Mac Curitins in chapter 14

* * *

“Are we there yet?” Peigi whined from atop Fabian’s shoulders.

“Do you see any buildings Peg?” Eoin asked sharply.

“No,” she admitted after searching and finding nothing but hills and woods surrounding the dusty long road they travelled on.

“Well, then, we aren’t there yet, are we?” Eoin explained sarcastically.

“Eoin, don’t talk to your sister like that,” Brennan chastised shooting him a disappointed look. Eoin murmured something that sounded like ‘yes mother’ under his breath.

“Brenny, how long do we have to go?” Maeve inquired, carefully rephrasing Peigi’s question.

“We should see the monastery after we cross the gully, not far to go,” Fabian supplied

“Why? Are you tired? Do you need to rest my love?” Brennan worried. He didn’t want to push Maeve to hard, she was pregnant after all.

“No, no, I’m fine, just wondering,” Maeve assured.

“It’s funny to see you act like a mother hen brother,” Connor snorted from behind him. Brennan smirked and straightened his arms.  Connor shrieked as he briefly fell before Brennan re-hooked his arms around his legs.

“Don’t do that!” Connor screeched and slapped the top of his head as Brennan chuckled.

“What?This?” Brennan asked cheekily before feigning dropping the boy again. This time, however, Connor was prepared and wrapped his arms tightly around Brennan’s neck, momentarily strangling him.

“Ha ha, not funny now is it?” Connor snarled as Brennan coughed. He's getting strong, he thought to himself as he recovered. It appeared his brother was not the young boy he was mere days ago.

“What's this stupid place called again?” Eoin called from behind them.

“Tigh Moling,” Fabian sighed, “It’s the most logical choice, it’s our best bet at getting a healer to look at your arm.”

“For cryin’ out loud, I’m fine!” Eoin complained, “We should be making our way to Wexford to recruit men, not  to some town full of priests who think prayers will save ‘em.”

Brennan sighed. As adamant as Eoin was, Brennan could tell the sweat on his brow and his pale complexion were warning signs of infection, Ethna had taught him that much.

“Eoin, quit your whining,” Connor shouted back, “Besides, I think for once Bean Boy might be right.” Brennan craned his neck awkwardly to stare back at his younger brother with a confused expression.

“Really?” Fabian asked gobsmacked.

“Don’t get excited, you're as dumb as a dag most of the time,” Connor spat over his shoulder and Fabian opened and closed his mouth deciding not to comment. “Tigh Moling is the most logical place to go to, not only does it have a healer, but it’s a holy place, now think, where do people go when they’re scared out their wits and have nowhere else to go?”

“They go somewhere safe, they turn to God,” Maeve answered.

“Exactly,” Connor praised, “Survivors with nowhere to go or nothing to rebuild would’ve fled there, they’ll be afraid, they’ll be grief stricken, but most importantly, they’ll be angry,” he explained.

“So you want to begin recruiting there?” Brennan guessed.

“It’s a good place to get more people like us, who have experienced the Danes’ attacks first hand, having people with stories to tell will help our cause, it will give us a base of supporters before we travel to unaffected towns,” Connor added.

“I suppose we’ve got to start somewhere, besides,” Eoin unsheathed his new weapon and flashed it around, “In a monastery, men with swords will make more of a statement, we’ll look like lords,” Eoin grinned deviously admiring the blade.

“Let’s just hope no one recognises that they’re swords of dead men,” Fabian sighed, side eyeing the sword fastened at his side. Brennan’s own side felt heavy with the weight of stolen metal. He stared at the plain iron hilt, only decorated with a simply engraved head of a stag, a symbol of strength.

“Aye, prying ‘em from the hands of dead guards, I admit, wasn’t my finest hour,” Brennan sighed.

“We did what we had to Brenny,” Maeve comforted and readjusted the quiver slung across her back.

“We needed them,” Eoin finished admiring his new toy and slid it back into its sheath, “It’s peaceful in heaven, isn’t it? I doubt they'll have any further use for ‘em.”

Connor sighed craning to look at his own quiver and sword slung over his back, “If it helps, think of it as helping the sword avenge its master, we’re doing the right thing, Brennan.”

Connor’s analogy may help the others, but he still heard the nagging voice that told him he was not worthy. He had failed his family and he had failed Ethna, all because he was not strong enough. He stared at the sword as if to apologise to it but the stag stared back at him.  He halted and furrowed his brow. It was as if the sword spoke. The stag’s eyes bored into his as another voice drowned out the nagging and challenged him; if you think yourself unworthy, prove yourself wrong, become worthy. Determination rushed through him like a thousand horses. He was right, so what if he was weak now, if he did nothing, he would remain weak and without honour. He could rise above this pit of despair that had engulfed him. He strode forward with a new drive, he would earn the sword or die trying. He would defend his land and his family and he would avenge those who had taken so much from so many.

* * *

 

People crowded their vision as soon as they pushed through the gate. Eoin trained his eyes on Fabian’s bright red hair as he lead the ragtag group through the crowd. In front of him,  Maeve gripped Brennan’s arm and Peigi buried her hands in Fabian’s hair, clinging on for dear life.

“So many people,” he muttered struggling to keep sight of his family. Around him, women moped about with blood-stained, torn clothes and glassy eyes, men clutched wounds and children staggered about crying out names of lost family members. It broke his heart. The longer he stared at the devastation, the deeper the shards of his heart dug into his soul.

“Eoin! This way!” Fabian waved him into a barn like building. The stench of blood and rotting flesh assaulted his nostrils. Rows and rows of injured dying and dead lined the interior.

“Excuse me, Brother,” Brennan called to one of the monks bustling about, “Please a moment of your time, my brother was shot, I need...”

“He looks fine, come back when he’s green,” A priest called from across the room. The monk in front of them shook his head and held out his arm, signalling for Eoin to offer his arm up for inspection. Eoin sighed as the monk prodded at the wound and squinted.

“Whoever cleaned this did a pretty good job, just needs a new bandage, a dressing and a watchful eye,” the monk nodded and handed him a bandage, “Take this, wash in the holy well today and apply leaves of yarrow every two days and refrain from the ways of the world, God tests us in times of healing.” Eoin held back a snort. He would take the medical advice offered, but he would never rely on God to do anything for him. God always took and never gave.

* * *

 

After following the Monks instructions, Eoin joined the family wondered the confines of the walls surrounding the monastery searching for a place to rest. Eventually, they found a spot nestled between the wall and another family. While Fabian, Maeve and Brennan searched for food, Eoin and Connor sat guarding their merger possessions and keeping a watchful eye on Peigi as she tossed a ball with other children. He observed the family next to them. The eldest son appeared his age, his head was slumped in sleep against his mother’s shoulder. The mother had a distant glazed look in her eyes as she watched her two younger children run around after the ball. There was no father in sight. It was a common factor he saw in many groups.

“This is depressing,” Connor stated the obvious as he leant back against the wall.

“Well, what do we do about it?” Eoin asked him.  

Connor turned to him with a raised eyebrow, “Why have you all of a sudden decided to listen to me, at the beginning of last week you hated me, now you act as if I’ve got all the answers?”  Eoin jolted. Connor thought he hated him? He knew that he had been jealous that Connor took more than his share of mother's love. But it was not Connor’s fault mother died before she could love her other children again,  it was not his fault that mother clung to him after the three others died in her womb. Yet, he had copped all the blame Eoin could give. Guilt tugged at his chest.

“I’ve never hated you, Connor,” he admitted. Connor snorted. “No, listen to me,” Eoin gripped Connor’s shoulder and stared at him. “How I’ve treated you in the past has nothing to do with you, it was my own self centeredness and bitterness, I was angry at fate and life, I was a coward and targeted my rage at my own family, at my own brother, and it took another loss for me to realise that, I am at fault, me, okay?” He stated firmly, “Connor, you're smart, you're clever, you see things in ways other people don’t and I may not have acted like it in the past, but I love you and I would never ask for another brother in your place.”

Connor, for once, was struck dumb. He sat in stunned silence, his cheeks reddened and he looked down and mumbled an ‘I love you too’ then regained his composure and proceeded to ruin the moment, “Yeah, you’ve got issues, you bitter old man, stop being all lovey-dovey, now Brennan’s gone all mother-hen on us someone’s gotta make sure we don’t go all soft,” he mocked, patting the top of his head.

“Quick, they’re handing out food in the main courtyard!” Some yelled. Dreary people suddenly turned lively and swarmed towards the food source. Connor whimpered as a wave of feet hurdled towards him. Eoin hastily dragged his brother up and pulled him close to his chest, saving him from the stampede.  Peigi squealed and ran to them, ducking and weaving before making it to them and attaching to Eoin’s leg. Awkwardly, they all manoeuvred until Connor piggy backed Eoin and Peigi grasped his hand.

They pushed through the throng. To see the mob crowd around a small rickety table with a large pot of stew balanced on top of it.

“Please remain orderly!” One Priest shouted above the crowd

“Form a line!” A monk screeched as he fought the crowd off with a ladle. Undeterred people continued to press forward.

“There’s enough for everyone!” He shouted.

“No there isn’t!” Some countered. Hearing this one man made a grab for the pot and pushed a woman aside. Another man tried to shove past the priest and a woman tackled one of the monks. Things seemed like they were going to escalate when a loud commanding voice rang out.

“STOP THIS SQUABBLING!” Everyone froze and all heads turned to the man perched on top of a barrel, “Are we savages!?” Everyone fell silent as the man jumped down from the barrel and paced around at the front of the crowd, “ARE WE SAVAGES?!” He demanded an answer from them.

Eoin just stared on in disbelief while Connor smirked and Peigi gawked in awe.

“No,” a few disjointed replies echoed around them.

“No?” He questioned and shook his head, “Then why are we acting like we are?” Brennan asked the crowd. Heads hung in shame. “So what if there’s not enough stew to feed us? We can work together and hunt, make fires to keep warm and cook with, are we not stronger than this?” He implored. Heads nodded and an orderly line began to form as people presented bowls, pots and cups out in front of them.

“Brenny is the boss,” Pegi smiled.

“Who knew he had that in him?” Eoin murmured to himself.

“I did,” Connor retorted. Eoin turned back to look at him in confusion, “Brennan always had it in him, he just needed a push,” Connor explained.

“A push? Wasn’t Ethy’s death enough?”

“I knew he’d blame himself, he feels responsible for us, he feels he has to protect us which is all well and good, but failure deals a crippling blow,” He sighed, “I challenged him to avenge the owner of the sword, to in a roundabout way, become worthy and to pick himself back up,” he stated.

Eoin frowned, “Why didn’t you just tell him it wasn’t his fault?”

“That doesn't work, pointing out a perceived failure and saying it was wasn't their fault, particularly for people like Brennan, only makes people feel worse,” Connor watched on as Brennan helped the priests serve out the stew, “To help a person regain their confidence, sometimes you need to give them a new drive,” Connor supplied. Eoin continued to stare at his brother in fascination. For a lonely boy, he knew an awful lot about people.

* * *

 

As night fell, small fires lit the grounds around the monastery him as he sat alone away from the clumps and clusters of people. There had not been enough stew to go around, but the young ‘lord’ had organised a few hunting parties. He admired the man, he was quite down to Earth. Almost too down to Earth. He smiled to himself, it was people like that young man who should be lords, not miserable wretches like him. Chuckling, he imagined the looks he would get from his dear friend when he finally awoke and he told him that six peasants were pretending to be descendants of the chief of Leamh. He only figured it out because as the son of the chief of Ceathrú, he had met the O'Ruadhain’s, and they did not look like that.

Still, he watched them curiously, lounging against a pillar as a large crowd gathered around them. The one named Brennan stood up, his brother’s Fabian and Eoin behind him as he began to speak.

“Men of Eire, of Munster, we may lick our wounds and slink in the shadows, beaten, battered and bruised now, but the truth is; they’ll be back and we need to be prepared for that. What hope do we have if no one fights back?”  Murmurs arose throughout the crowd, “We are gathering an army, to prepare for their return, who among you will join?” Well, this was surprising, he thought to himself. The imposters were ambitious. It was a valiant effort but he doubted the people would rally to that. His mind changed, however, when his brother, Fabian, sensing the hesitation in the crowd stepped forward.

“I see your hesitance, I see you ask for cause, I give you this;” he raised hands in a sweeping gesture, “Look at what they have done! Go on look around you! Look at the man beside you, see his tears, look at the woman behind you, see her pain, look at the child in front of you, see their future in flames, look at Eire, see how she suffers, God in heaven laments! The angels weep! I ask you, will you let this continue?” Loud shouts and jeers rose up from the crowd.

“NO!” The mob shouted in protest. Even he felt shivers run up and down his spine as he pushed off the wall he leant on and paced forward into the fray.  

“Then join us! Take up arms and march with us! Stand up and say never again! Stand strong and say time for this to end! Step forward and say no more!” Eoin passionately screamed. There was a thunderous roar almost every man and boy there surged forward to offer themselves to these men. He took a step forward, but paused and snorted, retreating back to his post. They deserved the title, they had more guts than him, the man who ran. Part of him wished he would fight his own shame and join them, aid them in their quest for vengeance, but he was needed here. He trudged off towards the barn where his friend lay dying.  He wished them luck, they probably had no idea how to swing a sword or sway a lord, they wouldn’t last more than a week.   

He came to the door and took one last whiff of fresh air before entering the infirmary. He searched the rows and panic arose when he could not locate the nest of blonde curls he was well acquainted with.

“God no, no, no, not him too,” he heaved.

“‘Not him too’ who?” A weak voice croaked behind him. He whipped around to find his friend in his tattered brown robes, leaning against a wooden beam. A bandage was wrapped across his middle and a patch was stretched over his scarred eye.

“Hh-h-how?” He managed to stutter.

“What? Did you think you could be rid of me that easily?” He cracked a weak smile, “I told you, God’s not done with me yet.”

“What are you doing up and out of bed?” He interrogated with concern.

“I heard the voice of God calling…” he began limping to the door.  
“I think the Danes hit you on the head too hard,” he shook his head and followed after him.

“No, I heard him in the voice of a man, surely you heard him too?”

“I haven’t seen Jesus around here apart from in the little wooden dead men on crosses,” he huffed and offered to help his friend who wheezed a weak laugh and draped his arm across his shoulder, “I don't understand, if you insist he is alive why do you keep him there?”

“I don’t fully know, I think it’s a reminder of what he what he has done for us, but right now that is not important.”

“No?” He questioned, surprised; his friend would always spruke on about how the Son of God was the most important thing to ever happen on this Earth. “Tell me, what is so important that death couldn’t keep you from it?”

“We must join them,” he croaked and hobbled forward.

“Join who? The loons who think they can take on the Danes?” He laughed.

“Yes, I‘ll join the ‘loons’, they need men, I can heal others, I can read and write and speak Norse, they’ll need a man of God, but importantly, they’ll need a man of war, they’ll need you Cuán,” he affirmed.

“They’re fools and imposters, they say they’re the chief's sons but they’re just mere commoners,” he spat.

“So was Gideon, I believe it's all the more of a reason to join them, you can teach them the sword, you can train the army! Right here right now,  their success or failure depends on you,” he implored.

“Why would a failure and a coward like me ever be needed? Anyone else would be better than the man who ran,” he grumbled.

“But you came back,” the young monk pointed out, “You came back for me and Ethna, and you saved me when I was left for dead, it is no coincidence that we end up in Tigh Moling at the same time as this family, it is no coincidence I wake in time to hear their call, I told you we’re here for a purpose Cuán, God has a plan, and he’s placed you here at this exact moment because that army needs you,” he pointed out the door, “Now, you can redeem your honour and fight with them, or you can sit here and sulk the rest of your life, but I know that God wants me with them, they are our destiny and with them is where I’ll go,” he stated confidently and hobbled off towards the family of six.

* * *

 

The young monk in front of him looked lucky to be alive and yet here he stood asking for round two.

“I admit I’m somewhat of a liability at present, but I assure you I’ll make up for it,”  the monk chuckled nervously before Brennan. Brennan smiled back, he liked this young man. He had a good sense of humour. “I can read, write, heal, speak a little Norse and I’m not afraid to take up the sword if need be,” he admitted. Brennan saw Eoin’s brows quirk with interest. He looked to Fabian who shrugged, then to Connor who nodded with interest and lastly to Maeve who smiled at him.

“A what’s the name of our new man of God?” He asked with a grin.

“Dabhi, Brother Dabhi,“ he introduced “I am ho…” he trailed off as a tall built and muscled man with oak-brown hair and a bushy beard to match marched up to them.

“Can you peasants even use those?” he pointed to the sword at Brennan’s side.

“How dare you address the son of…” Connor began but Eoin interrupted as he unsheathed his sword.  In the blink of an eye, the man latched onto Eoin's wrist with one hand and twisted the blade from his hand, catching it in his other before it clattered to the ground. He pulled Eoin into a headlock and stared at the sword the blade, appraising it.

“It appears I was right, you can not use these, I’ve seen four-year-old-girls with a better grip than you,” he chuckled, patting the top of Eoin’s head. Eoin grunted and slapped at the man’s arm. The others stood frozen in their place. His heart pounded in his chest. They had been caught out. He swallowed as he locked eyes with the warrior. The man laughed again and let go of Eoin and clapped him on the back, “Guess we’ll have to fix that.” He extended a hand toward him. Warily, Brennan stretched a hand out into the man’s crushing handshake, “I’m Cuán O’Togha, son of Eochaid O’Togha,” he introduced, “And I think you might need a bit of help.”

* * *

 


	2. Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Vikings raid their province, the Mac Curitins, a brave family of peasants, journey across the land of Eire, impersonating lords to gather an army to exact their vengeance on the men who slaughtered their people and killed their sister. Brennan can feel that this is his destiny but how long can they keep up this ruse? What are they willing to do to ensure their success?  
> -This is a companion piece to The Saga of the Slave Queen-

* * *

The hodgepodge of men, women and children milled about the grassy knoll awaiting the order to move out.

“How many men do we have now?” Brennan turned to Fabian as he returned from counting heads.

“Over four hundred,” he reported. Four hundred men and they had only created the army yesterday. Things were going far better than he ever anticipated. “And that’s not including their wives and children,” Fabian added.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news but even a hundred thousand men ain’t gonna mean anything without a title,” Cuán advised. Brennan furrowed his brow, that did put a dampener on things.

“What do you suggest we do then?” Connor questioned from his perch. Everyone turned to stare at him, even Daibhi made the effort to swivel on his crutches and gawk with his one good eye. “Well we obviously have a problem, we need to get rid of it, and if anyone here has a clue how to gain a title, it would be Cuán,” Connor studied the muscled man.

“The only ways to get title are with birthright, marriage or if a king grant’s it, it’s impo…”Connor didn’t let him finish.

“Good, the way I see it then is we have two options,” Connor pointed, “Who is a king who would support this cause?”

“King Cenn Fáelad of Munster should grant us support, these are his lands after all,” Fabian suggested.  

“Fáelad is but a puppet king, his master is Máel Sechnaill, and if he found out his minion had a few extra men he stretch out his grubby hands and take our army for his own, he would not give us support as we intend to go to his enemy Cerball Mac Dúnlainge of Osraige,” Cuán contradicted.

“If Eire is under attack from heathen savages and can they not put aside the petty upsets of their fathers, then what hope do we have?” Maeve despaired. Brennan wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulder and comforted her.

“We are hope, my love,” Brennan affirmed.

“Seathan O’Fhogartaigh, the king of my homeland, Eíle, he may be willing to support us,” Daibhi croaked, “He neighbours Osraige and Mide and Munster, he is allied with no one, but if he believes the Danes are a threat to him, he may support us,” Daibhi explained.   

“That shouldn’t be a problem, we have plenty of proof that the Danes are a threat,” Maeve gestured to all the staggering people around them.

“The Déisi Muman,” Eoin announced suddenly after sitting in silence, staring at the dirt. Jaws dropped in shock and heads of strangers lifted in their direction.

“The Déisi?!” Brennan hissed, “Have you lost your mind?”

“No,” Eoin shrugged.

“They are savages, some say they don’t even speak our language, you can’t be serious!” Fabian gritted.

“Well, in a war against foreign savages, our best possible chance of getting even, is fighting with our own savages,” Eoin stood up and dusted himself off, “I also doubt very much that they would sit idly by and watch their land be conquered, The Déisi, from what I have heard, are quite territorial,” Eoin smirked.

“You’re mad… they’re pagans, they’re more likely to lop off your head than let you speak to their king” Fabian scoffed.

“I would not advise we side with The Déisi,” Daibhi said calmly and shook his head, “They are secretive and unpredictable, it would not be wise to pair with such a wild force,” he warned.

“I on the other hand...” Connor piped up with a smile, “...Believe this is the best idea I’ve heard all day.” Again, Brennan stared at his little brother as if he had two heads, but Cuán nodded in agreement.

“I believe it is worth at least a try,” he suggested, “My father had connections with The Déisi, Eoin is right they are very territorial, they invaded this land many years ago and I imagine they’d be damned before they let someone else take it.”

“We can not associate with pagans, we’ll become no better than them!” Fabian seethed. Maeve flinched and heads turned. Brennan sighed and opened his mouth to speak but Eoin beat him to it.

“When you stood up with us when you agreed to travel on the road of revenge, did you commit yourself only to certain extent Fabian?” Eoin hissed jabbing a finger at his chest, “Because I didn’t, I will do whatever it takes to make sure that Ethna didn’t die in vain! You are fickle and you are weak!” He accused. Brennan tensed and stepped towards the pair.

“I am not weak, I will do what I must, but I will not lose who I am,” Fabian proclaimed.

“You’re right,” Eoin gritted through an angry smile and nodded his head, “We must stay true to ourselves,” he affirmed, taking another step closer. Brennan also moved, wary of the possible fight that could break out. “But you’re the businessman Fabian, you should know more than anyone that; to get what you want you must compromise, I am willing to compromise, are you?”

Fabian swallowed as Eoin stepped back faced the rest of them with a nod.

He knew it had to happen sometime, the hostilities of each other’s character had reared their ugly heads, he had just not expected it the happen so early. He was the leader now. He needed to make the call.  He examined each member of his family carefully and then cast a glance to Brother Daibhi and Cuán and finally to the hoard waiting in anticipation.

“Why not both?”  Brennan proposed. Everyone fell silent.  “If we split the army we gather more men faster and perhaps secure two allies,” Brennan reasoned.

“But the…” Fabian began.

“I’ve listened to what you’ve had to say Fabian and I believe it is valid, but Eoin’s idea also has merit The Déisi would be able to offer invaluable help,” He pointed to Fabian, “I will travel to Eíle, Brother Daibhi, it is your homeland and you are familiar with the way, so you will accompany me,” he turned to Eoin, “You will go with Cuán, as Eochaid O’Togha had connections, perhaps they will honor family ties, we’ll appeal for aid under our name Mac Cuirtin, as we have, by right, inherited the title of chieftains of Leamh,” Brennan instructed. Daibhi and Cuán stiffened suddenly and shared a concerned look at the mention of their last name. He was used to it though, sons of the hunchback tended to have that effect.

“No we haven’t,” Eoin squinted in confusion.

“In fact we have, we are the only remaining members of our clan and the land that belonged to the O'Ruadhains passes to the next of kin…” Brennan began.

“...Which would be us,” Eoin realised with a smile.

“We march across the country and converge in Osraige with hopefully, bigger armies and greater titles,” Brennan clapped his hands together and everyone nodded and mumbled an agreement.

“But what about the men?” Connor frowned, “Will they have to choose sides or will we have to split them?”

* * *

 

 He held his hand up commanding silence. The hum of chatter faded to quiet whispers as Brennan stood atop the hill looking at the mass.

“Men of Eire, our army here today is bigger than we could have imagined, but we still need more men, my brothers and I have decided to march to two territories to see if we can form an alliance with the petty kings before we march to Osraige, I and Fabian will march to Eíle, while Eoin will march to the Déisi’s territory...” Ripples of murmurs broke out within the crowd, but Brennan continued, “Bear in mind we will reunite, all who will travel with me sit down, and those who wish to travel with Eoin stand?” The crowd shuffled and chattered. He saw two brothers at the front begin to argue, they even looked as if they would fight until one harrumphed and sat down while leaving his brother to stand. His eyes also spied a husband and wife embracing one another as the wife sat down. A boy stood up but was pulled down to sit in his mother’s lap hastily. Brennan gazed down at the mass as one by one each person made a choice.  Maeve sat down with some difficulty as Fabian helped her and followed her example. Eoin stood, arms folded, observing the crowd and frowning at the imbalance of numbers.

“Just so you know,“ Connor sneered from his seat behind them, “I am ‘standing’,” he drawled, unamused.

* * *

 

The shuffling of feet and the rattling of oxen-drawn carts created a strange pitter-patter sound as roughly one-third of their army began their trek south-east. He felt his stomach sink as he watched Eoin and Cuán march ahead, leading the way.  Had he made the right choice? He met the stare of his brother who sat in the back of a cart towards the back of the group, staring solemnly at some imaginary point. Brennan raised his hand in a wave and Connor nodded stoically and waved back.

“What’s is happening Brenny?” A mousey voice asked. He turned to his little sister as she peered up at him with a furrowed brow.

“Eoin and Connor are going away for a while,” Brennan explained to her.

“Like Ethy?” Peigi asked. Brennan swallowed before drawing her into a hug and hoisting her up on his hip.

“No, they’ll come back, Ethy was different,” he sighed, “She is dead Peg, she has gone to heaven,” he told her with a pained voice.

“No she hasn’t,” Peigi reprimanded him, “The man from the Dragonlands has taken her, but he’s going to bring her back one day,” she detailed firmly.

Brennan frowned, “Where have you seen her?”  

“In my dreams,” she reported.  Brennan sighed and shook his head, Peigi had obviously equated these ‘Dragonlands’  from Ethna’s stories as heaven and this Dragon-man as God.

“I don’t think the Dragon-man is going to bring Ethy back Peigi,” he sighed.

“He will, you’ll see, it will take a while because he is sad, but Ethy makes him happy and he doesn’t want to lose her,” Peigi rabbited on with her nonsense. He only nodded pretending to understand.

* * *

 

 

Cluain Meala, that’s where they began to notice they were being watched. They had no idea how long or if they had been followed before-hand, but now the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

“We have shadows,” Eoin whispered to Cuán as he eyed the fierce-looking men in the distance atop horses, “What do we do?”

“We keep marching,” Cuán advised, “They’re just scouts, they’ll inform their king we’re coming.”   

“How far are we from their capital?”  Connor spoke up for the first time in two days, shifting uncomfortably on the cart behind them.

“Not that far,” Cuán nodded towards the hill ahead.

“I don’t see anything,” Eoin commented. To him, it looked like a plain old hill.

“That's the point, the top of the hill is ramparts, the fortress is behind them, hidden and sunken into the hill,” Cuan explained.

“Impressive,” Connor marvelled. Eoin turned back to the road to see two horses galloping towards them. The men were decorated with dark paint curling around their faces and arms. Both of them had grim expressions worn above their gold torques. They slowed to a halt in front of the mass, their firmly grasped spears glinting menacingly.

“What’s the meaning of this?” The first one demanded as he scrutinized the men before him.

“I am Cuán, son of  Eochaid O’Togha, a former friend of The Déisi, and this is Eoin mac Cuirtin, the last of the O'Ruadhain clan, we seek an audience with your king and come baring grave news,” Cuán spoke with confidence and stood firm before the men on horseback. Eoin matched his stance and bit back the fear in his throat, refusing to swallow.

“We do not recognise the O’Togha as friends, you will wait, camped, until the king receives of rejects you,” The first man ordered before turning on his horse dismissively.  Eoin fists clenched and he saw red. They had not marched all the way here to be treated like cattle and herded away.

“I and the men around me have suffered greatly because our kings do not listen and they take their own time, and right now your king has proven to be no different!”He shouted at the scouts. Connor and Cuán gaped at him in horror as the scouts turned back, but Eoin was not finished. “Tell your king he will receive us now or he will receive somebody far worse than us!” Eoin spat. Everyone tensed as the first scout readied his spear. Eoin’s hand flew to his side. Cuán cautiously backed up and the men all held their breaths. The tension was shattered by a hearty laugh from the second scout.

“Stand down, Bran,” the older man ordered, “It would be a shame to waste such a fiery, young soul.” Bran reluctantly sheathed his sword and relaxed back with his arms folded. The older man smiled widely and held his arms out welcomingly, “To seek an audience with the king, he must find you worthy of his time, a task most find difficult,” he explained, “You, however, have intrigued him greatly, you shall have your audience with him tonight at his feast.”  Eoin frowned and looked around to see in anyone else was confused then realised Cuán was bowing and Connor had stooped his head.  

“We thank you most graciously, sire,” Cuán nodded with gratitude. It was then Eoin finally comprehended what was happening; He was speaking to King Daghan O’Déisi.   He bowed his head and began to wonder if he should stammer an apology.

“Your men may camp outside our walls, your commanders,  in the meanwhile can conference with me in my hall after sundown,” the king announced, “I look forward to hearing what you have to say,” he finished with a grin. He then turned his horse around and galloped away while the scout, Bran, lingered with a sneer.

“I hope you disappoint the king, I shall take great pleasure in taking your heads,” he snarled. Eoin narrowed his eyes as he rode off.

“Well, that went well,” Eoin shrugged. Cuán’s jaw dropped. Eoin smirked madly and reach to grab the water skin from the cart. His wrist was quickly seized and a stern, red, face filled his vision as he was yanked forward.

“Never pull something as stupid as that ever again! You hear me!?” he hissed into his ear, “You could have gotten every single man here killed, we are lucky The Déisi saw your insult as a show of strength, but brother, please, think before you speak! We can not afford to let our emotions rule us.” He released his wrist, "This needs to work, for Ethy's sake and for the sake of Eire."

Eoin nodded, "You’re right, but sometimes, emotions and rage have merit little brother, they make you appear fiercer than you really are,” he acknowledged quietly and patted his shoulder. He nudged past Connor and climbed up on the cart  to address his men, “We make camp, here!”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the brothers part ways momentarily, because they can all just stick to together and have a lovely road trip around Ireland. Sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> HAHA I have been biting my tongue for ages, and laughing like a maniac when ever some one said "alas poor Daibhi, he will be missed." turns out, HE WAS NEVER DEAD WAHAHAHAHAH, I always wanted to bring him back :) and now when he shows up in the later chapters of TSOTSQ people who haven't read this are going to have a fit.  
> Also, this is only going to be a short work, but I'll probably take ages to do it as it's a side project but I will finish this.


End file.
